


How You Turned My World, You Precious Thing

by cuttlemefish



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Baby Yuri Plisetsky, David Bowie lyrics, Get together fic, Inspired by a Movie, Labyrinth AU, M/M, Viktor with a K, fake villain yuuri, jealous yuuri, katsuki yuuri as the goblin king, lots of mentions of glitter and eyeshadow and tight pants, not exactly the same as the movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttlemefish/pseuds/cuttlemefish
Summary: Labyrinth-inspired (1986) AU. When Viktor’s sister dies in a car crash, he’s left to take care of his one-year-old nephew Yuri, despite barely knowing how to take care of himself. It’s too bad Viktor has accidentally wished Yuri away to the Goblin King, whose killer eye-shadow game and glitter storms are nothing compared to the Labyrinth protecting his castle. Now, Viktor has 13 hours to get Yuri back or he risks losing him forever to the Goblin King, who also has 13 hours to convince Viktor thatforever is not long at all.





	How You Turned My World, You Precious Thing

**Author's Note:**

> For now, this should only be three parts as I have it planned in my head.

_Everything that you wanted I have done._

_You asked that the child be taken. I took him._

_You cowered before me, I was frightening._

_I have reordered time._

_I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you!_

_I am exhausted from living up to your expectations._

_Isn't that generous?_

-The Goblin King

**Scene 1: You Starve and Near Exhaust Me**

The thing about being the Goblin King is that it’s not a job anyone really wants.

No one dreams of ruling a land of bumbling goblins with horns or claws or helmets, and chickens and pigs that barely reach higher than Yuuri’s knees, but even that he can handle: At least there are the rocks for the days when he needs intelligent conversation. The real crux of his days are the babies, all the babies that come to hang out for prolonged periods of time in his throne room, and who screech at the first sign of a chicken cluck and need diaper changes that can be hard for creatures with claws for thumbs.

Yuuri still isn’t sure how the Goblin King acquired a reputation as a baby abductor, but he understands that it’s part of his job description to pick up babies at the first request and play the bad guy to some non-gender-specific damsel’s imagination in need of a shove from childhood into adulthood. But there’s also the problem of _accident calls_ , the people who read some silly book now – thankfully – out of print and accidentally send their babies to him. He’s been good about returning those, and he’s already written the publisher that a warning label should be released (or, even better, that there should be a recall,) but none of his letters have been answered. It’s only natural. The Underground’s shoddy postal system has been on his to-do list for ages, especially because it involves helping the goblins finally figure out how not to get lost in the maze, and would have been handled by now if it wasn’t for the babies. Really, though, how hard can it be to deliver a letter to Yuuri the Goblin King, Castle at the Center of the Labyrinth, Labyrinth, the Underground? It’s not like they even need zip codes!

Not that it matters. Yuuri knows he’s just salty because none of his Viktor Nikiforov merchandise has ever made it as far as the Underground, and Yuuri had to simply get a PO Box in the human world to get his mail.  

Thankfully for Yuuri, there haven’t been babies in the Underground for some years. It’s a good thing, even if it means he might potentially never find an heir and retire, which makes beach-side cocktails a pipe dream.

If Yuuri had to be honest, he'd say that he’s never been fond of having to make the difficult decision to return the child, if the caretaker beat the Labyrinth; turn the child into another goblin, if they didn't find the castle at the center of the maze; or, at worse, keep the child to raise it himself, only to be disappointed when they didn't prove worthy of the throne.

No, Yuuri’s had enough of child-rearing to last his entire immortal lifespan, thanks to Phichit, Yuuko, Takeshi, and Minako. And, despite the feeling of empty nest syndrome, he remains happy to see them all Aboveground, each one a content and accomplished human. 

Visiting them was also an excellent excuse to keep tabs on Viktor. Yuuri’s not sure that he should feel entitled to being on a first-name basis with someone he’s never met, but he’s royalty and willing to take liberties when it comes to Viktor – beautiful, talented Viktor, who glides over ice like he’s floating, and spins with the force of the Cleaners whirring down the tunnels of an Oubliette. It leaves Yuuri shaken with want he can’t recognize in the smog of boredom that paints his days in the Underground.

Yuuri has long ago come to accept that if he was in search of a consort, the only person eligible for the position would be Viktor, who is smart and possesses excellent taste. It’s too bad that Yuuri has never talked to Viktor because Viktor doesn’t have children, and the very idea of Viktor suddenly becoming a parent (in the way humans become parents,) makes him angry enough to want to stuff Viktor’s potential future partner in the Bog of Eternal Stench. And that type of jealousy, that’s not healthy, so Yuuri has long given up on having contact with Viktor.

It’s fine. He can handle admiring from afar. That’s what crystal balls are for, right? – _Right_ , he thinks, rubbing at his temples in the Goblin King’s stone chamber, where a helmeted goblin hands him a goblet of water. It’s the only useful thing his subjects have done all day.

**Scene 2: Everything I’ve Done, I’ve Done for You**

Viktor resents his sister for dying. It’s not the resentment that comes from grief, but from inconvenience. As far as Viktor is concerned, he has no family, other than the one he’s pieced together with ice cubes and sticky sweat and expensive soap at the rink. That doesn’t stop Sasha from barging her way into his life one more time, with the same strength as the car crash that killed her.

His sister had always had the worst timing. 

When Viktor had expected her in January, she’d come red-faced and wailing just a day before Viktor’s birthday, definitively stealing his autonomy and, on that year, his sixth birthday party. When Viktor was slated to win his fifth consecutive World Championship, Sasha decided she would elope with the man that would later leave her. Naturally his parents had had to deal with the aftermath of a decision that left both their children without a college degree, one with gold medals to weigh him back down to Earth on the days when his mind wandered too close to the precipice of fogged ennui, and the other with nothing to show for it, except a gold band around a thin finger that could snap with the ease of the wind’s fortune. 

When their parents retire to St. Petersburg, Viktor picks up for them. He starts sending Sasha periodic checks out of obligation. When Yuri is born, he doesn’t visit, but he notices the money starts being wired back. He naturally assumes this is where they both decide that they were born to each other by circumstance. There’s no point in prolonging a relationship neither of them want.

He’s still shocked, and yet completely unsurprised that his sister would die when Viktor is at the Olympics. Viktor misses his crowning as a gold medalist to rush to an airport and make it to Florida to take his nephew. _Leave it to Sasha to plan poorly_ , he thinks as he’s handed a chubby one-year-old with specks of blonde hair. His face is ugly, scrunched up and red with small blue-green eyes filled to the brim with tears. Viktor feels like he’s holding a bomb with an alarm that whirs: _I don’t know you. You’ve never been here. Why are you here now? You’re not my mother._ And Viktor wishes he spoke baby, that he could say to Yuri that he knows, that he understands, that he wouldn’t have chosen this for either of them, but the only words sticking to the tip of his tongue are more akin to ‘I don’t want this baby.’ There’s no one else to take Yuri, though. Viktor knows his parents are elderly and couldn’t handle a newborn now. Even entertaining the notion of voicing his real feelings, though, would be to send Child Protective Services sniffing for an adoptive home. 

When the taxi drops them both off in front of Sasha’s home, he feels weird knocking on the door. It takes him a moment to realize the key is in the manila envelope he was given with Yuri’s papers. In his arms, Yuri bounces, face impassive with the threat of more tears.

“Okay, okay,” Viktor shushes him, struggling to balance the baby against his hip as he tries to open the envelope with his teeth.

“Do you need help?”

Viktor looks up to find an elderly man with a cap peering at him from her porch next door. There’s an apron tied tight around his waist and a spoon in his other hand. He’s obviously cooking and Viktor is taking him away from his stove. His accent is thick. Viktor wonders if he’s Russian.

“No, no, we’re fine,” Viktor dismisses him, proud when he gets the envelope to open. The sudden jolt sends Yuri into another tantrum and he pushes at Viktor’s bicep with strength, as if he could suddenly rip away and float in the thick night air, “Really, we’re fine. Please go back to what you were doing.”

“Are you sure?” he asks him, voice gruff and unbelieving. “It’s no trouble. I know little Yuri really well. If you need anything, my name’s Nikolai."

Viktor pushes the door open with his shoulder, picking up the baby bag by his feet and shuffling indoors, “We’re fine. We’re just fine on our own. We don’t need any help.”

And, with that, he closes the door. Viktor looks at Yuri’s tear-stained face and sighs: “Don’t give me that look. It’s not like I want to be stuck with you either, but you’ve only got me and I guess now I have you. It’s no use getting attached to other people. As soon as we get things settled, we’re both on a plane back to St. Petersburg. We’ll find you a nanny you like and I’ll be back at the rink all day, and we’ll barely have to see each other, deal?”

Yuri blinks at him, opening his mouth again to whine. Viktor’s too inexperienced to even understand he’s hungry, until he realizes there’s no formula in the entire house and some kind soul at Child Protective Services stuffed a couple of tubs of baby mash. There’s a note that reads: _Yuri is 14 months old. He’s been weaned off bottles._ He’s relieved. He wouldn’t have recognized that the containers of pureed food in the refrigerator weren’t some fad diet, but instead the relics of a mother that cared enough to make her baby food, instead of buying it.

Viktor sets the baby in his high-chair.

“This can’t be too hard, right?” he whispers to himself, opening the first glass jar and dumping the contents of green puree onto a plastic baby bowl with friendly kitten faces on the edges. He finds a neon green kitty-shaped spoon and sets both in front of Yuri, smiling bright and proud, “okay, there you go. Enjoy.”

Yuri stares at the bowl. His little hand flexes as he reaches for the spoon, and he laughs as he taps it against the tabletop.

“Eat,” Viktor orders him gently, “yum, yum, food.”

Yuri simply responds by taking the bowl and flipping it over. He laughs and claps his hands, and Viktor grabs for a towel and gets on his knees to scrub the floor.

“I hope you don’t expect me to feed you or clean up after you,” Viktor sniffs, nose upturned in judgement as he locks eyes with Yuri. There’s something mischievous in those baby eyes; he can feel it. “I’m not your servant,” he reminds the baby in cooing tones, reaching to pluck him from the chair. “Okay, well, if you’re not going to eat, let’s put you down for the night.” 

**Scene 3: I Move the Stars for No One**

Yuuri is pretty sure this is what it feels like to have a panic attack. Years of involuntarily becoming caretaker to babies, human and goblin-alike, have given him a good idea as to what not to expose to a baby. Apparently, the list now includes Viktor Nikiforov, the Ice God that can’t understand the basics of a feeding schedule, or the concept of _feeding_ in general.

Granted, Yuuri also can’t interfere without being called, and it’s not like he relishes the idea of taking on another baby, either. He shouldn’t feel so horrified.  

“He’s going to accidentally kill that baby if we don’t get him out of there,” Yuuri whispers, staring at the scene unfold from the crystal balls rolling in his hand. He shuffles them expertly, picking a different one for a different angle. It’s obvious Viktor knows nothing of children: The bath isn’t too bad. He doesn’t drop the baby in the lukewarm water. When it comes to changing a diaper, he manages _okay,_ thanks to a Youtube video, except for the giant stain on his cheek. Bed time does not go very well. It all starts with the red-and-white-striped pajamas.

“Oh Yuri, stop it,” Viktor whines, bouncing the baby as he paces the room, “what do you want, huh, a story?”

“ _Listen_ ,” says a goblin, one eye slowly opening, just as all around him the nest of goblins stirs sleepily. Another set of eyes open, followed by another, until Yuuri has a corner bouquet of crazy eyes, red and barely glaring. Yuuri can hear them from their dirty chamber at the Goblin King’s castle. Their ears are pricked up, ready.

Yuuri ignores them for the sight of Viktor setting Yuri down inside his crib: “Alright, alright, hush now. What do you want, hmm? A story? Will that help you sleep?” He knows he won’t get an answer other than Yuri’s howling. He looks through the shelf of books, all in pastels with big words and pictures, except for the small, red velvet book. It’s thin with gold letters reading _The Labyrinth_ , and Viktor flips through it, deciding he might as well make it a story for the two of them.

In the castle, the goblins’ eyes are all now open very wide. Yuuri, too, can feel his heart hammer in his chest.

“Okay, so once upon a time,” Viktor skims as he reads, speaking loudly to overcome Yuri’s cries, “there was a beautiful young man who was cursed by his evil sister to take care of a spoiled child, who wanted everything for himself and treated his caretaker like a slave. _What kind of book of this?_ – But what no one knew was this: The King of the Goblins had fallen in love with him, and given him certain powers. _Wow. What kind of stuff was your Mommy reading?_ ”

Yuri was slowly starting to calm down, his cries no longer defeaning in the silence of the room. The soft pitter of rain raped at the window.

Back in the Goblin King’s castle, Yuuri shook his head, “no, no, no, no. Don’t read on. Stop.”

Viktor looks at Yuri from behind the book, rocking himself on the chair as he continued, “One night, when the child had been particularly cruel, he called on the goblins for help, and they said, ‘Say your right words, and we’ll take the baby to the Goblin City, and then you’ll be free.’ Those were their words to him. _You like this story? – You’re a dark little guy, huh?_ ”

Yuri had dropped on his bum, holding tight to his feet as he sniffled. He was nearly half-asleep, with only a light protest remaining on his breath. He stared at Viktor through the bars of his crib, dizzy under the spell of the words Viktor was weaving together. Of course, all were stolen from a novel he’d never seen before. 

“But he knew that if he said the words, the King of the Goblins would take the child to his castle forever and ever, and he would turn the baby into a goblin.”

Yuri opened his mouth then, and began to howl insistently, rubbing at his eyes again. Even from his chambers, it was obvious to Yuuri that the baby was hungry. No amount of rocking or reading was going to calm him until he ate food.

“Oh, Yuri,” Viktor chided sternly, setting the book down to pick him up. He pressed him close to his chest, “shh, you’re alright. Be quiet, please, or…” His voice lowered. “—I’ll say the words.” Yuri seemed to only cry louder, and Viktor noticed for the first time the shadows inking over the wall. He addressed them theatrically, walking Yuri to another side of the room. He's only teasing to ease his own nerves when he says, “No, I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t say…”

Yuuri sat on the edge of his throne, licking his lips nervously. He could hear his goblins yammering with excitement, practically buzzing electric in their cubicle. This wasn’t something they’d had happen in close to 19 years, not since Phichit.

(“ _Listen!_ ” say the goblins again, and every glowing eye in the nest opens.  

“Will he say it?” a fumbling goblin asks. Nervously, he clinks his long claws together.

“Say what?” a rather stupid goblin asks, and Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“Shh!” the first goblin smacks him, “listen!”)

Holding Yuri over his head, Viktor takes in a long breath before he turns back towards the crib to deposit the screaming child and tuck him under some blankets. He sighs, “makes me wish I really had magic powers.” As he’s closing the door, he says, “I wish the goblins would come and take you away, right now. They’d probably do a better job than me in taking care of you…”

Yuuri gasps, standing from his throne. He tucks the crystals back into his cuff. For a moment, he considers not calling the goblins, but, already, he can hear them crowding by the door with the excitement of a stampede. Sighing, he whispers, “Go. Bring the child to me. I must go prepare.”

It’s exceedingly unfortunate. When Yuuri imagined talking to Viktor for the first time, he didn’t exactly envision playing his personal fantasy villain while holding his nephew hostage in his palace. Once upon a time, when they used to get babies every other week, it was easier to keep the castle babyproof. Now, he looks around and sees chickens and roosters napping in the corner and a pig snoring softly in the pit in the middle. He’s not sure why there’s hay stuffed by the window or why his riding crop is covered in his favorite glitter eyeshadow, which is neither cheap nor easy to get. But this is where he will now have to keep a baby.

His only consolation is that he’ll get to talk to Viktor and feed the poor child. Maybe, if he’s lucky, it’ll be just a long babysitting session. Yes. Yuuri has been trying to be more optimistic, despite having spent hundreds of years stuck with a court of fools that can’t even forage to feed themselves.

“This is going to be such a disaster,” he groans, spinning himself into an owl.

**Scene 4: You’ve Run So Long**

Viktor isn’t sure what he was expecting as soon as he walked out of the nursery, but silence wasn’t it. He panics almost instantly, rushing back to press an ear to the door and whisper, “Yuri?” – Just a second ago, the baby had been howling. It seems unnatural he would suddenly stop. Viktor knows nothing about babies, but he’s heard the tragic stories about sleeping deaths, and despite how much terror he has at the idea of having to bring up a child on his own, he’s more terrified of losing him.

It’s not love, he tells himself. It’s responsibility. Regardless of what it is, Yuri might be the only thing he has left.

Viktor opens the door, peering into the dark room. The shadows continue to dance on the walls, but there’s an eerie, macabre feeling veiled over the room. He flicks the light switch beside the door, but nothing happens, not even when he jiggles it up and down several times. A board creaks in the distance, and he decides to approach the crib: “Yuri?”

The storm is growing stronger outside the house. In the lull between thunderclaps, he looks down to find the sheets convulsing. Weird shapes thrust and bulge beneath it. And, immediately, Viktor pulls it away, heart thumping as he swears he spots specks of thick, coarse hair underneath. When he looks again, there’s nothing there. His hands clench tight by his sides, fingernails making half-moons on his palms.

There’s a white owl pecking desperately at the window. It flaps insistently, like it belongs indoors, even as the thunder and lightning clap behind it.

“Yuri?” Viktor tries again, unsteady as he steps back and feels something recoil around his leg. He gasps, watching as the crib slowly creeps behind him. The chime of the clock alerts him to the fact that it now reads 13 o’clock – an impossible number for time. The soft tones are followed by a series of snickers. The sounds wrap around him, sending his mind spinning between sound and light. “Who are you?” he yells, wheeling around to grab for a forgotten broom to advance upon the shadows scuttling about. A series of goblins laugh as they prance and bob behind him. “You better hand him over. I’m calling the police right now.”

The window panes slam open. A strong gust of wind blows at Viktor’s back, pushing his hair forward, and he slowly peeks over his own shoulder to find the shadowy silhouette of a man against the stormy sky. His cloak billows in the wind, and Viktor wonders for a moment if there’s glitter stuck to his hair. It’s dark, like midnight, blending into the purpled-hued sky. Something silver glints from his neck. It’s the only thing he can truly see in the dim light.

“Who are you?” he whispers, still holding tight to the broom.

“You don’t know?”

It’s not exactly the response Viktor is expecting, but he’s pleased that the voice that greets him is calm, soothing and kindly. When lightning traces the sky again, and Viktor can see his face, he finds that there is an impassive expression staring back at him. Viktor has never seen a person like this: His cream-colored shirt is open at the front, loose-sleeves, with silk cuffs at the wrist, and barely hidden by a tight waistcoat tracing a delicate waist that calls attention to a set of broader, defined hips caressed by a pair of black tights that leave little to the imagination. Viktor’s not sure if he’s ever felt so parched, but his eyes keep drinking greedily, almost as if hypnotized by the contour of thigh-high black boots and black gloves on slender fingers.  

“I’m the King of the Goblins,” he bows, “Yuuri.”

Viktor resists the urge to curtsy as well. Instead, he holds tight to his broom, barricading himself with it.

“I have saved you,” Yuuri says with a flourish, looking pleased with himself, and Viktor can’t help but notice how delicate his features are, from the high-cheekbones to the soft, pink lips. He’s a vision in eyeliner and smoky eyeshadow, like he just walked out of a glitter shower, and Viktor really doesn’t know what to do with all the information coming through his eyes. He feels strangely in love, like he’s witnessing a fairytale plucked Alex ive from his deepest fantasies. “I have taken the child and, thus, freed you from the bonds that distressed and frightened you. And now, Viktor, you are free.”

“Uh, thanks,” Viktor finally finds his voice, furrowing his brows in confusion, “but I don’t want to be free. I mean, I do, but I want my nephew back. So, if you don’t mind…”

Yuuri crosses his arms, staring Viktor down, “but what’s said is said. And, I don’t mean to offend, but I probably am more apt to care for a child than you are right now.” – His lips part, like he’s considering whether to say more or not, but he doesn’t continue. Viktor is left curious.

“Okay, offense very much taken,” Viktor speaks slowly, dropping the broom as he steeples his hands together, “look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you were trying to do, but I want Yuri back now. Please. It’s the last time I’ll say please.”

“But you wanted the child gone,” Yuuri reminds him. The entire conversation feels like going in circles. There’s still not a sign of Yuri anywhere, not even a sound.

Viktor chews on his bottom lip, nodding sagely, “yes, I did say that, but that was then and this is now, and now I want him back. So, bring him back.”

They stare each other down for quite a while. Yuuri looks confused before he reaches under his cloak and pulls out a crystal. He seems slightly nervous as he extends out towards Viktor.

“Here, I’ve brought you a gift,” Yuuri says, almost shy and soft in his demeanor.

“What is it?” Viktor eyes it wearily. His fingers curl inward, tentative and afraid as he considers taking the round crystal. It looks harmless, but, if he is to believe the stranger breaking into his house, he might just be dealing with magic – and magic, at least the kind Viktor has seen in movies, is not something he wants to test.

“It will show you your dreams,” Yuuri replies, “It will help you forget the child.”

“I don’t want to forget the child!” Viktor yells, jumping when more lightning coils behind Yuuri. It’s like watching the sky light up its own veins. “I _want_ the child.”

“Look, don’t make me be the bad guy to your good guy. It never ends well,” Yuuri sighs, sounding tired. Viktor tries to parse out the words. He wants to ask Yuuri if this is what he does, if he just goes around playing villain to every household with a toddler. There’s too much blood rushing to his ears. Yuuri sounds faint, an echo over a cliff, “Just take the gift, forget the child. You are no match for me, Viktor.”

When Viktor tries to speak again, Yuuri plucks a live snake from the air and throws it. It coils around Viktor’s neck, and he instinctively rips it away. Once the snake falls on the ground, it transforms into a couple of goblins. They snicker and bob away, and for the first time, Viktor can suddenly make out their shapes in the shadows. Their red eyes study him. He breaths hard, staring at Yuuri, impassive and unafraid. And Viktor decides then that for all his beauty, Yuuri is dangerous. Viktor decides he needs to get Yuri back: Poor Yuri, who must be afraid in a strange place, with hairy, horned creatures with eyes the color of thick paint.

“Where is he?”

“Somewhere you’ll never find him,” Yuuri tells him, waving him off.

“But there is a place to look,” Viktor replies, feeling proud when he notices just the flicker of surprise on Yuuri’s face, like he has just extended a challenge.

Yuuri’s gloves squeak as he recoils his hands, “Yes, there’s a place. But I’m not sure that you should go there.”

“I need to go there. If there’s any way I can get Yuri back, if there’s anything I can do, I’ll do it,” Viktor says, begging as he drops to his knees. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Yuuri gulps hard, a soft shade of pink glossing over his nose as he turns away from Viktor. Lightning coats the night sky as he stretches out a hand towards the distance. Slowly, Viktor gets up, blinking rapidly as he approaches. There, across the lighting and the dark sky, he can make out the faint lines of an arid hill under an angry, red sun. The sky is orange. And the more he decides that, yes, he can see it, the more he can suddenly touch it.

“That’s the labyrinth,” Yuuri speaks behind him. “And that is the castle at the center of the labyrinth. If you want to get your nephew back, you have 13 hours to transverse the labyrinth and solve all its riddles. But, if you take this challenge and fail, I will have no choice but to turn him into a goblin. Turn back, Viktor.”

Viktor shakes his head, amazed as he sees the walls of the labyrinth shift and twist in front of him. It’s an angry maze, growling with the sound of heavy stone bricks digging their way from underground.

“I can’t,” he says.

Yuuri nods, looking pained as he slowly vanishes, leaving Viktor behind with only the thirteen-hour clock for company as it hangs from a dying tree branch.

“Then you have only 13 hours,” Yuuri says before he’s gone.

**TBC**


End file.
